


My Gut Feeling (Says I Love You)

by C4t1l1n4



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Geralt thinks something might be off about Jaskier, some gut feeling tells him so, but he can't pin down what it is.OrJaskier hides what he is until he doesn't.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 468





	My Gut Feeling (Says I Love You)

**Author's Note:**

> I have never seen, played, or read the Witcher but I've been reading a shit ton of fanfiction and wanted to explore non-human Jaskier for myself.
> 
> Sorry if they're OOC

There is something _off_ about Jaskier.

Every time Geralt looks at the bard, everything he sees screams human, but there’s a gut feeling, buried deep down inside him that tells him otherwise. It’s not a persistent feeling, it comes and goes, but it comes enough to make him wonder. 

It’s just... The way the sun reflects in those bright cornflower eyes makes them seem like they glow sometimes. 

The way his voice holds a crowd a little better on nights they’re running low on coin, and they leave with heavy pockets. 

The way that sometimes - out of the corner of his eye - Jaskier’s smile is a little sharper, teeth pointier, deadly. But whenever he blinks, staring closer for a better look, they’re normal again. 

He’d asked the bard about it once. 

They’d been traveling for half a day now, Geralt on his horse, Jaskier walking behind, strumming his lute. His gaze flickers down to the bard, who seems to get better at keeping pace the longer they walk, instead of tiring out like expected, and Geralt gets hits by a wave of curiosity. How is the bard looking just as flawless now as the day they first met? It had been years, _years_ since they first ran into each other and Geralt swears that the bard still doesn’t look much past 21. 

“Jaskier.” He asks, slowing Roach so the bard could walk next to them. “How do you still look so young?” 

Jaskier tenses. Just barely. His step falters just the tiniest of bits, not noticeable to the human eye and a movement so quick even the Witcher almost misses it, wonders if his mind was making things up. But Jaskier recovers extraordinarily and has Geralt thrown off the scent by a characteristically flirty reply.

“Geralt,” the bard exclaims, too smug and delighted by the question. “You think I look young and handsome.” It’s as he continues to ramble that the Witcher realizes his mistake. “I’ll write my next ballad about this, you know. The deep and mysterious Witcher overcome by the beauty of a simple human.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt says again, drawing him away from his rambling. “Shut up.” And with that, he kicks Roach back into high gear, mind sufficiently blank of anything pertaining to Jaskier’s possible inhumanity.

——  
It comes to a head several months later, as the day is coming to a close, the sun soon to dip behind the horizon. They had started this morning earlier than usual but were still a day's travel from the nearest town, so they decided to stop for the night. They’d finish their journey tomorrow. 

They clear a place not too far from the road, but far enough to not draw attention with their fire, and Geralt goes to find some food while Jaskier collects sticks. Geralt finds that Jaskier complains about staying in the woods less and less, and only really complaining about staying outside if they’re someplace else, high on a mountain or in sandy soil.

He comes back to their campsite to an unpleasant scene. The rabbits he caught are quickly abandoned and are replaced by his sword in his hand. It appears that bandits had found them anyway and were making quick work of his bard. It’s not that Jaskier is weak, the Witcher has seen him hold his own in plenty fights before, but 7 on 1 just isn’t good odds. 

Geralt draws his sword with a growl and all attention is on him immediately, Jaskier dropped to the ground like a discarded doll. The bandits seem pleased to have run into the Witcher, instead of frightened like he’d hoped, and all charge him at once. Without a second thought, Geralt throws himself into battle. 

Now, Jaskier plays the part of Damsel in Distress very well, mind you, but he’s not stupid and he’s not hurt, and so he watches. He will make no moves to intervene if not necessary - he will certainly get in the Witcher’s way - but he will offer his assistance if needed. Now, the only problem with them having set up camp and getting ready for the night is Geralt isn’t wearing his armor. So when one bandit is able to work his way to the backside of the Witcher, he gets in an easy shot. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier screams, but it’s just in time to watch the sword go straight through his back. 

_That’s it._

The bandits are down to 3, but they've let down their guard now that Geralt is seriously injured - presumed dead - and that’s their second mistake.

Their first mistake was messing with Jaskier’s Witcher. 

“You.” Jaskier growls, getting to his feet. The bandits turn to him with the look of ‘what are you going to do about it’ until they see his eyes. 

His eyes that glow an entrancing blue, shining brightly in the golden light. Their faces fall as they watch his teeth sharpen and ears grow into points. They try to run as he grins - not a smile that he throws to crowds - no, a grin that shows no mercy. They hardly make it three feet before vines grow up from the forest floor, wrapping around them, holding them in place. The vines grow thorns as Jaskier lifts his hands up into the air, his fingers growing into claws as sharp as the thorns ripping into the bandits' sides.

And then he speaks. As the bandits struggle in their hold, the vines squeezing tighter and tighter, they hear him speak - truly speak - for the first time. He isn’t using his human voice, or even the voice he uses to entrance people when he sings, this is a voice that could kill, and will kill, if you listen too long. It’s a voice of power, a voice that demands respect, and hurts those who dare not give it to him, bouncing around in their head, grating on their ears. 

Let’s not be mistaken, this voice is soft and melodic, it dances around them but it echos around the forest and soothes the trees, stops the wind, pauses the flow of the river. 

**“You dare touch what belongs to me,”** Blue eyes flash, shifting from cornflower blue to that of midnight, that of the deepest depths of the ocean, drawing you in until you choke and drown, unable to breathe despite how hard you try. **“You will suffer.”**

He twists his hands into a fist and they can’t decide what’s worse, as they take their final breaths: the glowing of his eyes, hard and unforgiving, or the sound of his voice, making their ears bleed. 

There’s a pause and Jaskier takes a deep breath to steel himself, eyes returning to glowing cornflower blue before turning his gaze to where Geralt lay, still on the grass. The bard makes his way over as quickly as possible, offending parties now down for the count and the farthest thing from his mind, it fully occupied with his Witcher. 

**“Ger-“** he pauses, his voice still layered, ringing around the forest, bouncing through the trees. He takes a second to still himself, and instead of talking, focuses on the wound in his back. Placing a hand above it, Jaskier lets his eyes flutter shut, channeling his power into the Witcher’s body, knitting the injury shut. Jaskier takes another deep breath, channeling his energy from the forest around him and the light of the fading sun. 

He rolls Geralt over onto his back, brushing his hair out of his face, listening as his heart beats, chest rising and falling. Jaskier clears his throat, feeling the power slipping from his voice and returning to its normal tone. 

“Geralt.” He says softly, shaking his shoulder in hopes that he’d awake. Jaskier knows his eyes are still alight, his teeth are still sharp and his hands are still claws, but he needs to make sure Geralt is alright before he leaves. The Witcher opens his eyes, blinking a few times, and Jaskier backs out of his sight, resorting to sitting beside him and comforting him with the sound of his normal voice. Why he so desperately tries to maintain the facade any longer, he isn’t sure. 

“You’re okay,” Jaskier reassures. “They’re all dead.” He glances over to where the bandits lay, covered in tiny little scars, blood soaking into the forest floor. This is when Jaskier realizes his mistake: of course, when Geralt smells human blood he’ll freak out, thinking it’s Jaskier’s. “I’m okay too. They didn’t hurt me.” He tries to reassure, but Geralt sits up away, golden eyes tracing over his body.

This is the first time that Jaskier has even thought to look himself over for injuries, but the bandits hadn’t got too far before Geralt stormed into the clearing. He briefly wonders how much his blood smells like a humans, if that’s apart of the illusion, to appear as human as possible. 

After a while, when no one had said anything, Jaskier speaks up, lifting his dimming gaze to look at Geralt, who stares back stone-faced. There are two ways he’d imagine Geralt might want to go about this, so he figures he’d start with the worse one and make his way from there. 

“Fae are weak against iron. I know you have some of that lying around. Best to take me someplace far from the forest, less resistance that way. And, uh,” his gaze drops to the ground, no longer glowing, suddenly at a loss for words, “just make it quick.”

Geralt makes no motion to move and Jaskier is honestly surprised to hear emotion clouding his tone. “Jaskier.”

The bard looks up from the ground, unsure what to make of the Witcher’s hesitance. “Yeah?” Jaskier can feel his teeth have flattened and assumes his ears and hands are back to normal as well, hidden under their usual glamour. What he doesn’t expect is to be pulled into a bone-crushing hug, Geralt burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Geralt?” Jaskier asks, confused.

“I’m not going to kill you.” The Witcher manages, and Jaskier’s shoulder is suddenly wet. 

Immediately, Jaskier reaches up and hugs back, hoping to provide some comfort. Even though he’s happy to be spared, he isn’t sure he likes the other option better. “So, I should be off then?” He asks, but can’t keep how much he doesn’t want to leave out of his voice, vines growing around his legs to prevent himself from leaving. “Stay out of your way and never see you again?”

“If that’s what you want,” comes the muffled reply.

“That’s exactly what I don’t want,” Jaskier admits, “I’ve been the one following you around if you haven’t noticed. But, I’m not human. Certainly you-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt cuts him off, “I don’t care.”

Staying alive and still being able to travel with Geralt was not one of Jaskier’s expected outcomes. 

“You saved me.” Geralt points out, “Healed me. Certainly I would’ve died if not for you.”

“Well, we can’t have that just yet, now can we?” Jaskier says, a smile making its way onto his face. Geralt hums something that sounds like it might be a reluctant agreement, and the lack of words makes the bard smile. “Back to no words, huh? Hit your emotional quota for the night?” He teases. 

Geralt rolls his eyes and opts for a more physical response, grabbing the collar of Jaskier’s doublet and pulling him in, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“Oh,” Jaskier says, at a loss for words once again. “Yes, more of that please.”

Geralt stands to his feet, and Jaskier follows shortly after, drug behind the Witcher by his sleeve. They settle by the dimming fire, which Jaskier re-lights with a wave of his hand, and Geralt finds the rabbits he dropped earlier, preparing their dinner. It’s calm now, the forest is a safe spot instead of a threat, and the gut feel Geralt has is happy to be proven right. 

It doesn’t feel uncomfortable now, instead, it’s a reassuring weight that’s a gentle reminder the bard is nearby.


End file.
